


Taking Some Time Off

by bree_black



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Human Castiel, Incest, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 20:40:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bree_black/pseuds/bree_black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’ve still got work to do, but everyone needs to take some time off once in awhile. Sam, Dean and Castiel allow themselves exactly one day per month. It goes pretty well, overall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Some Time Off

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the spn_reversebang, based on paxdracona’s prompt. Art masterlist [here.](http://paxdracona.livejournal.com/9702.html)

**May**

“This is totally unsustainable,” Sam declares on the drive back to the motel. Dean jumps a little, because they’ve been driving in exhausted silence for at least ten minutes now, and he’d fallen into his road trance.

“What?” Dean says, blurrily. It feels weird to talk because his face is totally caked in dried mud that starts cracking around the corners of his mouth.

“This!” Sam says, gesturing to their ruined clothes, and then to the sleeping ex-angel in their backseat. “We closed the gate to Hell weeks ago, and we’re working harder than ever. We haven`t slept more than three hours at a time in months, and this is the third pair of jeans I’ve ruined since Christmas.”

Dean winces, preparing himself for another round of Sam’s endless campaign to retire from hunting. “Sam,” he says, fighting back the urge to raise his voice. “We can’t just quit.”

“I know,” Sam says. “But we can take a day off.”

“Huh?”

“We can take a day off. One per month. A whole 24 hours when we’re not allowed to hunt, talk about hunting, hell, even _think_ about hunting. A day to do something fun, just because we want to. I think we’ve earned that much.”

Compared to permanent retirement it seems like such a small thing, so Dean can’t exactly argue against it. “Okay,” he says. It sounds a little awkward - they haven’t been doing a lot of agreeing lately. “Sounds good.”

“Yeah?” Sam says, sounding suddenly very young. “Really?” And it kind of breaks Dean’s heart that such a tiny concession makes Sam so happy.

“Sure,” Dean says. “We spend so much time driving around this country, it’ll be nice to actually _see_ some of it.” He raises his voice a little and peers up into his rearview mirror. “Right Cas?”

Cas wakes with a particularly loud snore, blinking furiously. When he’d burned off the last of his Grace forcing that gate closed, humanity hit him with a vengeance - he’s still prone to randomly falling asleep at inappropriate times.

“Hm?” Cas says. “Yes, right, whatever you say, Dean.”

Dean is pretty sure Cas has no idea what he’s just agreed to, and it actually makes him feel kind of good that he trusts him so much. He turns back to the road and taps a cheerful rhythm on the steering wheel, glad to feel like he’s properly taking care of his brother and his friend, for once.

Dean smiles to himself, and a piece of dried mud peels off his face and lands in his lap. Maybe this day off thing is a good idea.

**June**

“This is weird,” Dean announces to no one in particular. No one pays him any attention - they’re too busy inspecting a sequined jumpsuit.

They’d been in Memphis on a case, and once they’d salted and burned the haunted record player, Sam suggested they use their day off to visit Graceland. Dean hadn’t been able to come up with anything better, and he’s beginning to regret that.

“Do you have any idea how much of this shit could be haunted?” Dean whispers out of the corner of his mouth, as they file past the next jumpsuit. Sam ducks in a futile attempt to avoid ruining a group of Japanese tourists’ photograph.

Cas doesn’t even notice the tourists, he’s so absorbed in whatever the self-guided tour is telling him. Apparently he’s not too distracted to irritate Dean, though.

“We are not supposed to discuss hauntings, or any other supernatural phenomenon,” he says, too loudly because he’s wearing headphones. “I believe that was part of our agreement.” Tourists stare at him with obvious concern, and Dean glares.

“You weren’t even awake when we made that agreement!” Dean protests, but Sam and Cas share a smug smile anyway. It’s annoying and kind of comforting at the same time.

“A deal’s a deal, Dean,” Sam says, which is stupid because Sam knows Dean doesn’t exactly have a history of honoring deals he regrets making.

“There is a _meditation garden_ outside where the dude is _buried_ and people are fucking _praying_ ,” Dean insists, trying to stress the seriousness of the situation. “If there aren’t already ghosts there’s definitely a Tulpa, at least.”

Sam laughs. “Well if there is, it’s not hurting anyone. We’ll come back when someone dies.”

Dean frowns, and deliberately steps on the leg of a passing visitor’s bell bottoms. The guy stumbles but doesn’t fall, and by the time he turns around Dean is whistling innocently.

Sam huffs and keeps walking, pretending like he doesn’t know Dean.

“You’re not enjoying our day off?” Cas asks. He takes off his headphones and hangs them around his neck.

“It’s not really a day off, is it?” Dean jokes. “Between you and Sam, I’m always surrounded by nerds - this is just a different kind.”

Cas blinks, then smiles carefully. “You’re joking,” he says decisively. “Come,” he says, catching Dean by the sleeve of his jacket and tugging. “The voice in this machine informs me Mr. Presley owned a substantial classic car collection.”

Dean can’t remember Cas ever touching him before, except to hit him or prevent someone else from hitting him. He’s so startled he lets Cas lead him out into the bright sunlight and across a green, green lawn toward the garage.

These had better be some really sweet cars.

**July**

Dean is pretty bad at golf, but he’s pretty good at drinking the free beer the guy in the golf cart keeps bringing them. To be honest, Sam’s the only one actually golfing. Cas had given it two holes before declaring the entire exercise completely pointless. He seems to be enjoying himself anyway, though.

“It’s like a huge garden,” Cas explains when Dean asks, while Sam lines up his next shot and they both pretend to watch. He takes a small sip from the single beer he’s been nursing for over an hour. “When I had to choose, that’s what Heaven looked like to me. A garden.”

Dean hates it when Cas gets all wistful like this. It makes him feel inadequate, reminds him that he and Sam and their whole fucking planet will never be enough to make Cas happy.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says, and means it. He’s the reason Cas has lost his Grace, and no matter how many rich guys’ haunted gazebos they exorcise, there will never be enough trips to the fancy country club golf course to make up for that.

“Why would you be sorry?” Cas asks. He lets his beer hang forgotten at his side, stopping dead and fixing Dean with one of his disconcerting stares. Dean stares back, because he can never seem to help it, and neither of them hears the golfer over the last hill yell “fore!”

The ball hits Cas in the back of the head. The staring means that Dean actually sees his eyes roll back before he collapses.

“Cas!” Dean yells. He’s on his knees in the unnaturally green grass before he even realizes what’s happened. Cas lies on his back, perfectly still and peaceful in the way that reminds Dean of corpses, and an icy cold seizes him.

He doesn’t hear Sam reach them, but he feels it, registering Sam’s presence somewhere in the back of his brain. Sam splashes what’s left of Cas’ beer on his face, shakes him by the shoulders, while Dean just sits there, frozen. He can’t handle this again.

Cas opens his eyes and looks at Sam first, because Sam is leaning over him checking his pulse at the time. It makes Dean’s stomach twist, and it takes him a second to recognize what he’s feeling as jealousy.

In less than three seconds, though, Cas turns to look at Dean, and instead of the relief he expects, a thrill of excitement runs down his spine. “You okay, Cas?” Dean asks. He tries to keep his voice neutral, but he must give something away because he catches Sam glancing at him suspiciously in his peripheral vision.

Cas sits up carefully. “Yes,” he says. “Though I was not prepared for this sport to be so dangerous. You told me only yuppies play it, which based on your tone of voice I took to be an insult.”

Sam decides not to finish his round, helping Cas to his feet and putting an arm across his shoulders to support him. As they set off across the course, Dean follows three steps behind. Though he hasn’t actually had that much to drink, he feels less than completely steady.

**August**

“I fucking declare this our day off,” Sam says, with rare passion. Their latest ghost hunt had not gone well. “Kindly pull over at the nearest source of alcohol.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean agrees. The dent in the Impala caused by _running over a gravestone_ has him in a pretty bad mood himself.

“It’s nighttime,” Cas points out. He has his nose pressed against the back window, seemingly transfixed by the bright lights of San Francisco on a Saturday night. “We wouldn’t have a full day off.”

“Sure we would,” Sam says. “24 hours, starting now. We start working again at...12:45 am tomorrow.”

Dean doesn’t answer; he’s too busy navigating a particularly steep hill, pulling into the nearest bar with a parking lot big enough to hold his car. In thirty seconds flat they’re all out of the car, past the unusually accommodating bouncer at the front of the line, and into a dark club full of pounding music and the sweet promise of alcohol.

It’s when they’re already seated in the booth next to a couple passionately making out that Dean realizes that this is San Francisco, so of course they’ve stumbled into a gay bar. But Sam has already gone to get their drinks, and Dean’s way too tired to go back out into the narrow, crowded streets to find somewhere else.

“Oops,” he says, without much energy. “Sorry, Cas.”

“Why?” Cas says, without turning to look at Dean. He’s staring at the dudes messing around in the next booth over, with obvious interest and absolutely no shame.

“Um,” Dean says, brain screeching to a sudden halt upon encountering this new piece of information. He’d always assumed - since their unsuccessful brothel field trip - that Cas was just completely uninterested in sex. What he’d never considered was that Cas was simply interested in a different _kind_ of sex.

“Hey,” Sam says, putting three beers on the tiny table and squishing in next to Dean. “I’m pretty sure we’re in a gay bar.”

“Yeah,” Dean says with a shrug. “But Cas doesn’t seem to mind.”

They both turn to watch Cas, who is staring at the two guys rapidly approaching total nudity.

“I’d like to go look around,” Cas says suddenly, tearing his eyes away. He rises abruptly from the table, nearly upturning his untouched beer, and stalks purposefully away into the crowd of writhing - nearly exclusively male - bodies.

“Well that’s new,” Dean says. He slides over in the booth, putting several inches of empty space between his thigh and his brother’s, suddenly aware that they must look like a couple.

Sam frowns. “I’m not surprised,” he says.

“Why not?” Dean asks. Somehow, he’s nearly finished his beer already.

Sam snorts, but doesn’t answer. They lapse into a silence that’s not exactly comfortable, but could be so much worse.

When Cas has been gone an hour Dean starts to worry, and even four beers can’t relax him.

“I’m gonna go look for the angel,” he says. “Kid is like, having a sexual identity crisis and someone could be taking advantage.”

“He didn’t seem in crisis to me,” Sam says, weirdly snappish and sullen.

“Whatever, I’ll just check up.” Dean says, sliding out past Sam.

He’s been weaving through the crowd and across the dance floor for ten minutes when Cas appears at his side without warning, almost like the old days when he had his powers. “Hello, Dean,” he says.

“Hi Cas,” Dean replies. “You alright?”

“Of course,” Cas says, standing very close to be heard over the music. A drunk guy with the blue mohawk bumps into Dean, and Cas grabs his waist to steady him. A jolt of something like electricity rips through Dean’s body.

“Oh,” he says.

“Dean,” Cas says, and then Dean grabs him by the wrist and pulls him against the nearest wall.

Cas kisses with a combination of innocence and confidence, like he’s never done it before but knows exactly how it should go in theory. His mouth is hot and wet, and Dean whimpers in the back of his throat but isn’t even embarrassed because this is _Cas_ , who’s already seen him broken and bleeding and hopeless.

Between the flashing lights and pounding beat and the pleasant buzz in his head, Dean loses track of time until suddenly he’s leaning against the wall and Cas is on his knees in front of him, reaching for his belt.

“Shit,” Dean says, snapping back to the present moment pretty fucking quick. He reaches down to help Cas - whose hands are shaking slightly - unbutton the fly of his jeans. He wastes only a few seconds hoping they don’t get arrested for public indecency.

Cas’s mouth around Dean’s cock feels like heaven, a thought that makes him laugh internally. Cas peers up at him, to check Dean’s reaction, and Dean catches glimpses of blue, blue eyes with the flashes of the strobe lights.

“Fuck,” Dean groans, tangling his fingers in Cas’ hair. He has no idea why they haven’t been doing this for years.

Dean’s sure there are at least a dozen people watching them, but his eyes only snap open when he feels a particularly weighty gaze.

Sam is standing ten feet or so away, staring at them both with slightly parted lips. He meets Dean’s gaze, and then, inexplicably, gives Dean a small, sad smile before turning and walking away.

Dean would wonder about it, except within a minute he’s too busy having the best orgasm of his life to think about anything except how he’s gonna return the favor.

 

 

When Dean returns to their table, Sam is sitting alone and staring off into space.

“Hey,” Dean says, a tidal wave of awkwardness washing over him. It doesn’t mix well with his drunkenness and post-sex buzz.

“Hey,” Sam says. “So you and Cas, eh?”

“I guess,” Dean says. “That okay with you?” He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Sam says no.

“‘Course,” Sam says. “I’m just sorry you’re stuck with a third wheel.”

“Shut up,” Dean says. He sits down next to Sam, shoving himself into the booth. “You’re my little brother.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Sam says. He makes it sound like being Dean’s family is a curse, and that kind of hurts.

It feels like the most important thing in the world that Dean make himself crystal clear to Sam. He reaches over and cups Sam’s face between his hands, forcing Sam to look him in the eyes. He leans in very close so Sam can hear him over the music.

“You’re my little brother and the center of my world, okay Sam? And nothing and no one is ever going to change that.”

“Okay,” Sam whispers, his breath warm against Dean’s skin.

“I mean it,” Dean insists.

“I know.” Dean knows he should let go of Sam’s face now, pull away, but there’s something desperate in Sam’s look that makes him reluctant to break away.

Eventually, Cas returns with another round of drinks, and Sam moves away from Dean. The three of them sit together in silence, surrounded by flashing lights and half-naked couples. It feels like everything is different and nothing has changed between them, all at the same time.

**September**

“This is both inaccurate and offensive,” Cas says the moment they step into Florida’s Holy Land Experience theme park, which promises to provide them with an authentic taste of Biblical times.

Mostly, Dean sees a lot of tourists wearing polyester and baseball caps.

Sam tries to make the best of the experience, because it’d cost nearly a hundred bucks to get the three of them into the place, and because when he’d found the brochure in a motel lobby Cas had seemed genuinely excited about reliving his childhood or whatever.

“Hey, look!” Sam says in his false cheerful voice while scanning the brightly colored park map frantically. “We can go see the...whipping post?”

While Dean laughs so hard it makes him cough, Cas thoroughly surveys his surroundings. “That rock is made of plastic, the water in that fountain isn’t even clean - let alone holy - and those “scrolls” are actually the instruction manual for a microwave oven, badly translated.”

As if on cue, the crowd around them parts to make way for a long-haired actor covered in fake blood, carrying a giant cross on his back. The guy’s doing a pretty decent job of looking hot, exhausted and miserable, but then maybe that’s just how all the park’s employees feel on a regular basis.

“And Jesus was obviously much darker skinned,” Cas mutters, earning more than a few irritated glances from the awed tourists crossing themselves and praying as fake Jesus trudges by. “That’s just historical fact.”

“Cas, it’s okay,” Sam whispers.

“No it’s not!” Cas protests. He turns suddenly to glare at a a woman a few feet from him, who is crying out in some language Dean doesn’t know. “You’re not speaking in tongues,” he accuses her loudly. “What you’re saying doesn’t mean anything. None of this _means_ anything.”

The woman falls abruptly silent, but her big, bearded husband steps forward in a decidedly threatening manner. Dean grabs Cas to get him to chill out. He could take the guy of course, but there are kids and like, _priests_ around.

The woman looks pointedly down at Dean’s fingers, wrapped around Cas’ wrist. “Don’t bother,” she says to her husband. “People like that are all going to burn, anyway.”

“Excuse me?” Cas says, pulling himself up to his full height. “What are you implying?” There’s something of his angelic authority left in him, because the man steps back.

“Sinners like you,” the woman recites, undaunted, “will face an eternity of suffering in Hell as God’s penalty for your unnatural acts.” She looks to the crowd around her for support.

Cas tears his wrist free of Dean’s grasp and he just looks so _mad_. “You know nothing of God!” he shouts, and Dean recognizes his attack face when he sees it. He does the only thing he can think of to prevent a total brawl.

He kisses Cas, hard on the mouth, in the middle of a crowd of tourists who think the Holy Land Experience is the best place they can spend a Saturday afternoon in Florida. Cas goes still with surprise and for a moment Dean thinks he’s averted disaster. But then the big bearded guy takes a step toward them and Sam punches him in the nose.

And that’s how they get kicked out of a religious theme park.

“I think I’d prefer to live a secular lifestyle from this point forward,” Cas says when they finally reach the Impala, bleeding slightly in places. He climbs into the passenger seat.

“I fully support that decision,” Dean says as he starts the car.

“Amen,” Sam says solemnly, and then they all laugh so hard the car shakes.

**October**

“This is the closest your species has ever come to an accurate depiction of Heaven,” Cas says. He cranes his neck back to stare up at the projected night sky above them. It had been Sam’s idea to go to the planetarium today, but Cas is the one who’s totally into it. They’ve watched the 25-minute presentation at least six times now, and though Dean’s practically got the script memorized, Cas doesn’t seem to be losing interest.

“I saw Heaven,” Dean says. “It didn’t look like this.” The museum will be closing soon, so the auditorium is empty except for the three of them, reclining in their worn, cushioned seats.

“Your vision was limited to your own subjective experience. Heaven as I knew it was limitless, endless, shining and beautiful.” Above them, Earth hurtles through the solar system, and a simulated spaceship zooms through the brightly coloured rings of planets.

“Do you miss it there?” Sam asks.

“Sometimes,” Cas says. “I miss my brothers and sisters. But I think, overall, I prefer it here.”

It’s perilously close to a cheesy romantic gesture, but Dean reaches over and takes Cas’ hand, twisting their fingers together. It’s partly a show of support, but more than that Dean just wants to make sure Cas _stays._ They’ve lost each other too many times before.

“I prefer you here, too,” Sam says. He stares up at the stars some more. A flashing red arrow points out Earth, a tiny speck among millions of others.

It’s a pretty big universe, but right now, to be perfectly honest, Dean likes his place in it.

**November**

“I want to take our day off tonight,” Cas says, when he gets back to the car carrying a greasy paper bag. “I met a woman in the diner who invited me to a concert.”

“Cool,” Dean says, already rifling through their dinner and unwrapping a burger. He likes music.

“What kind of concert?” Sam asks, more wary. He’s probably remembering the last time Cas chose their vacation day.

Cas shrugs. “She said it would be pretty chill.”

Dean freezes mid-bite. “What is this?” he says, mouth full.

“A soy burger!” Cas says cheerily. “My new friend recommended it.”

Dean stick his head out of the car and spits his mouthful of partially chewed food onto the pavement.

“Oh this is going to be fun,” Sam says, not even bothering to disguise his glee at Dean’s distress.

 

But three hours later neither of them is laughing.

“Is this song twenty minutes long?” Dean mutters, still grimacing from his last sip of some imported beer he can’t pronounce.

“I think it’s a new song,” Sam says. “I think.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. He and Sam are standing awkwardly at the back of a crowded, poorly-lit bar. The air is heavy with a sickening mixture of floral perfume, pot smoke and mothballs. There are upwards of twenty band members on stage as far as Dean can tell, though at least half of them appear to have forgotten about their instruments and are just standing there, nodding their heads philosophically.

They haven’t seen Cas in nearly an hour. Though it turned out okay for him last time, it still makes Dean nervous to lose track of him.

“Hi!” Cas says, popping up next to Dean as if summoned by his worry. “Hi guys, hi!”

Dean blinks. “Hi?” There are two people hanging off of Cas, one on each arm. They’re both androgynous with short hair and nose rings. Dean thinks they might be twins.

“These are my new friends - Gideon and Ruth.” Cas doesn’t indicate which of them is which. “They’ve invited me to see their record collection!”

“Oh yeah?” Sam says, narrowing his eyes. It’s not until Dean recognizes Sam’s mistrust that he registers his own.

“Yes!” Cas says brightly. His eyes are kind of glazed, and he sways back and forth to the rhythm of the unceasing music, leaning heavily on Gideon/Ruth. “We are going to eat hummus and discuss Judith Butler.”

Dean doesn’t know who that is, but he suspects - based on the way whoever is standing to Cas’ right is looking at him and the way whoever is standing to Cas’ left is _totally groping his ass_ \- that discussion wouldn’t last long anyway.

“Okay Cas!” Sam announces. “Time to go home!” He puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder, in a manner he probably intends to be soothing.

“By home you mean the car, right?” Cas says. He turns to Gideon or Ruth. “We’re not homeless people. But Dean’s car is the metaphorical center of our universe.”

“Okay,” they answer. “Cool. I like fucking in cars.”

Cas blinks, and Dean reaches for him, detaching one of his new friends. He twists their fingers together and squeezes. “Go away,” he says firmly. “Shoo.”

Ruth and Gideon hesitate.

“Seriously, get.” Dean repeats. “I’m his boyfriend and I’m the only one who gets to fuck him, in cars or out of them.”

They retreat pretty quick after that, melting into the crowd as suddenly as they’d appeared from it. Dean nods at Sam before tugging a distracted but willing Cas out of the bar and into the fresh and blissfully cool air.

“That was fun,” Cas declares as he weaves his way across the parking lot. Sam’s answering sigh is affectionate - Dean’s is closer to exasperated.

“And you called me your boyfriend,” Cas says, suddenly sounding altogether too sober. “So overall I think it was a successful evening.”

He climbs into the driver’s seat and Dean...well, Dean just hands over his keys.

**December**

Christmas day is ruined by the whole homicidal elves debacle, but they do manage to wrap things up by the end of the night. And since everyone in Colorado is busy sleeping off their turkey hangovers the next day, they have the ski hill pretty much to themselves.

“I don’t understand why this is considered fun,” Cas says from the ground, after  
tripping on his rented skis for the tenth time.

“You just need to keep them straight,” Sam says. “Stop crossing them.”

“Yes,” Cas says, frustrated. “I understand that in theory,” he snaps.

“Beat you to the bottom, Sammy!” Dean calls over his shoulder, before pushing off and zooming down the hill. As the older brother, he feels it is appropriate that he be better at skiing than Sam.

But that really depends on one’s definition of “better.” Dean is faster than Sam, yes. The problem is that he doesn’t know how to stop.

“Ow,” Dean says, from the base of the tree he’d crashed into. “I don’t think I like skiing.”

“Me either,” Cas agrees. He stands over Dean wearing only his boots, their matching skis abandoned somewhere in his wake.

They end up sipping hot chocolate in the ski lodge, watching Sam zig zag his way down the hill. That seems to happen a lot, he and Cas standing by watching Sam play. It’s what big brothers are supposed to do, but it makes Dean feel lonely, for some reason.

**January**

Dean isn't really a big fan of fireworks; they sound too much like gunshots and make him nervous. Sam loves them, though, has loved them since he was a kid, so Dean makes sure they're in a city big enough to put on a decent show when New Year's arrives.

It's a tight squeeze, the three of them on the hood of the car, so Cas ends up sprawled on the grass in front of them. He seems interested in the show, but that's nothing compared to Sam. Sam, who stares up at the color-splintered black sky with an awed expression, barely blinking. He looks like a little kid again, innocent, impressed by the simple pleasure of beautiful explosions. Dean wonders if Sam is remembering that time they almost burned down that field, too. They try not to spend their day off too early in the month, usually, but seeing Sam so happy now is totally worth it.

Dean's throat hurts and his eyes water. He tells himself it's the bitter smoke in the air, but he can't really fool himself. There are hundreds of people in the crowd, oohing and aaahing with every new burst of light, but to Dean it's like he and Sam are the only two people in the universe. To Dean it's _always_ felt a bit like he and Sam are the only two people in the universe.

Sam turns to look at Dean, smiling, and Dean looks away quickly, embarrassed to be caught staring. His gaze falls to Cas, who is looking back at him, expression unusually guarded.

"What?" Dean says, wondering how long Cas has been watching him watch Sam.

“Nothing,” Cas says. “Just you and Sam.”

“What about me and Sam?” Dean asks, stomach lurching.

“Nothing,” Cas repeats, gently. “Just watch the show.”

Dean does his damndest to keep his eyes on the sky. But no matter how hard he tries, something keeps pulling him back down to Sam.

**February**

On February 15th, they buy all the leftover candy in an entire town, eat the entirety in the space of three hours, and then find themselves strangely unable to sleep - or even sit still - come midnight.

“This may not have been a wise idea,” Sam says from the broken down motel couch. He taps his foot frantically. There’s sugar powder stuck to his upper lip, making him look like he has a thin, sparkling moustache.

“I HAVE TOO MUCH ENERGY,” Cas screams at the top of his lungs. He’d started the afternoon by consuming an entire package of pink, red and purple pixie sticks. “LET’S GO DO SOMETHING.”

“Shhh!” Dean says. “Shut up Cas. It’s the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere. There’s nothing for us to do.”

“The high school has a swimming pool,” Sam suggests. “I saw it when we were chasing those gremlins.”

“NO TALKING ABOUT WORK,” Cas screams.

“The swimming pool is closed,” Dean says, ignoring Cas with some difficulty.

“When has that ever stopped you before?” Sam asks with a mischievous grin.

So that’s how Dean ends up breaking into a Maine high school in the middle of the night, the day after Valentine’s Day, so that he can go skinny-dipping with his brother and ex-angel boyfriend.

Well, he and Sam keep their clothes on. Cas prefers to be nude, something about his “natural state.”

The awkward thing about going swimming in your underwear in the middle of the night is that once you get into the water you’re not really sure what to do next. Dean’s not exactly the type to swim laps, and it’s not like they’re going to play a rousing game of Marco Polo. So when Cas doggy paddles over and kisses him he’s relieved, if only because making out gives him something to do with his hands.

“Guys,” Sam says, after a minute or two. “You know I’m here, right?”

The weird thing is that, yeah, Dean does know Sam is there. Dean is hyper aware of Sam’s presence in the pool, can hear the echoes of his brother’s ragged breathing. The water swirling around him and Cas is the very same water keeping Sam afloat, and for some reason knowing that only makes it better.

Dean pulls abruptly away from Cas, breathing hard. The excitement running through his veins isn’t just too much sugar, not anymore. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get out of here before we get in trouble.”

He’s not sure what kind of trouble he means.

**March**

On March 31st, they realize they haven’t taken a day off yet. A rash of killings by psychically linked serial killers across the country had kept them busy - and confused - for the majority of the month.

“Shit,” Dean says, after Cas mentions it. “Shit shit shit.” They’re in the middle of a blank stretch of highway in Nowheresville, Illinois.

“It’s okay,” Sam says from where he’s stretched out across the backseat, reading an ancient text by the light of his cell phone. “We can do it tomorrow.”

“No,” Dean says through gritted teeth. “No we cannot. It’s important.” He promised Sam this one little thing, and he’s not gonna let him down.

So he pulls off the road, throws open the trunk of the car, and pulls out their mildewed pup tent. It’s the first purely recreational camping trip in Dean’s life.

It’s cold out. So cold that Cas digs his old trench coat out of the bottom of his duffel. He doesn’t look like his old self in it though. Rather than making him look any more like an angel, it brings out his human-ness instead - the scar on his cheek, the uneven patch at the back of his neck where he’d tried to cut his own hair, the fading hickey on his throat.

Any angelic illusion is completely shattered, too, when Cas pulls a clear plastic baggie of pot out of one of the trench coat’s pockets. “I got it at the concert we went to before Christmas,” Cas says simply. “They really were nice people.”

Between Dean’s cooler of beer and Cas’ secret stash, it starts to feel a little warmer out.

Dean’s never been a big fan of recreational drugs. Dad had lectured constantly about the dangers of dulling one’s sense and reflexes. And though Dean had always thought that was pretty hypocritical coming from a lifelong alcoholic, he’d obeyed nonetheless. But he’s not ideologically opposed, and he’s not supposed to be thinking about work tonight, anyway.

 

“We absolutely did not use our wings as sex toys,” Cas says, so loud that it echoes under the cover of the trees. “You’re being ridiculous.” He’s sprawled across Dean’s lap, and squeezes his thigh in frustration.

Sam laughs so hard he chokes on a mouthful of beer, dribbling into the grass. “Well you had to do something to pass the time up there,” Sam insists. “What was it, millenia?”

“It didn’t feel like it,” Cas says, passing the joint back to Dean. “Time was different. The few months I’ve spent with you have felt more significant than centuries in Heaven.”

Dean slides one leg under Cas’, lays an arm across his shoulders and squeezes his arm sympathetically.

“Oh my God,” Sam says from a few feet away, and Dean can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “You guys are _cuddling_.”

“We are not,” Dean counters.

“Are too,” Sam says. “No one ever cuddles me,” he says, lifting his voice to a joking whine.

Dean takes another hit, hands the joint back down to Cas. “Already done it,” he says. “We cuddled all the time when you were a kid.”

“You’re lying,” Sam says.

Dean sits up straighter, jostling Cas’ head and making him laugh. “I am not. I mean when you were really little, like before you turned into an obnoxious pre-teen. When Dad was out working - or drinking - we would...snuggle, or whatever. You were a little kid and I thought someone should do it, since Mom was gone and Dad wasn’t exactly a hugger.”

Sam is silent a moment. “I’m sorry I don’t remember that,” he finally says.

Dean shrugs. “It’s not a big deal.”

The next silence between them stretches on for what feels like forever, until Cas rolls out of Dean’s lap and crawls across the grass to Sam.

“Hey Cas,” Sam says brightly. “Whatcha doing?”

Cas doesn’t answer. Instead, he climbs up over Sam’s lap, straddling his legs, and kisses him.

“Mmmph,” Sam says, as Dean drops the joint in the thankfully damp grass.

Cas pulls away, looking pleased with himself. “Don’t be sad, Sam,” he says.

“I’m not sad, Cas,” Sam says. His laugh sounds forced. Dean can’t stop watching the way Sam’s hand has come to rest on Cas’ hip like it belongs there. “But I don’t think Dean would like it if you went around kissing people to cheer them up.”

“I don’t care,” Dean says, voice tight and head foggy. “I mean, not if it’s you.”

Sam looks over at him then, uncertain, like he’s looking for permission. When Dean nods, shakily, Sam turns back to Cas and pulls him into another kiss, deeper and hungrier this time. Cas responds eagerly, and before long they’re both breathing heavily, Sam rocking his hips up to meet Cas’ body.

Dean tells himself it’s the pot that flips the switch in his brain, that makes him even consider crawling toward them. When he gets close enough to feel the heat radiating off their bodies, Cas breaks away from Sam, and suddenly Dean is kissing his brother.

It’s familiar and unfamiliar all at the same time, comfortable and terrifying, wrong but also absolutely right. It’s the sexiest thing Dean has ever experienced, Cas’s fingers tangled in his hair and Sam’s mouth on his. He pushes closer, reaching out for the nearest bare skin he can find.

“I’m very glad we took the night off,” Cas says, matter-of-fact, the next time they come up for air. Sam groans, Dean laughs, and there isn’t much talking for the rest of the night.

**April**

“Who are we supposed to be cheering for?” Cas asks, midway during the third inning of his very first baseball game. “You just clap every time anyone hits the ball!”

“Exactly,” Dean says, his mouth full of approximately three quarters of a hot dog. Crumbs land on Sam’s lap, who brushes them deliberately back at Dean.

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Cas protests. “Doesn’t there need to be a winner?”

Dean swallows, then shrugs. “Maybe. But we’re not from anywhere, so we don’t need to root for anyone. And that way, we always win.”

Sam takes a long sip of his lemonade, then picks up Dean’s train of thought. “It’s just about being out in the sun on a Sunday afternoon, eating junk food and trying to catch a free t-shirt.”

Cas frowns in concentration. On the diamond, there’s a break between innings and some kind of bird mascot races a small child around the bases. The mascot trips theatrically on its oversized feet, letting the child overtake him to win a free hat and a bag of peanuts.

Sam and Dean jump to their feet to give the kid a standing ovation, and Cas smiles, like the game finally makes sense to him.

**May**

Dean thinks it’s kind of fitting that they end up covered in mud again, exactly a year after Sam had first decided they needed to take some time off. This time it was swamp monsters, not mud-slinging leprechauns, but still. It’s nice and circular. Dean’s never been a big fan of destiny - it never seemed to lead him anywhere good - but he thinks his opinion might be changing.

“So what should it be,” Sam asks, “movie night or bowling?” They’re discussing what to do for this weekend’s day off, and since they’re in a town with a population of less than two thousand, their options are limited.

“There’s that new zombie movie,” Dean suggests.

“Too close to work,” Cas interjects, peeling off his mud-hardened jeans, and then starting on Sam’s. “Not appropriate for our day off. We should see a “rom-com” instead.” He actually makes the air quotes gesture.

Sam pats Cas’ head affectionately, but shoots Dean a look. They are equally exasperated by Cas’ fondness for romantic comedies.

“Well why do we have to choose?” Dean says thoughtfully. “Let’s go bowling tonight and see a movie tomorrow.”

“Take two days off?” Sam says, raising an eyebrow.

“Why not?” Dean says indulgently. “We just finished a case. I think we’ve earned it.”

He makes it sound like he’s doing Sam a favor, but the honest truth is Dean kind of likes the way the first year of days off has taken them - and he’s in a pretty big hurry to see where they’ll go next.


End file.
